


Got to Fill the Void

by zade



Series: kinktober 2018 (the kinkening) [7]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, But just a little, Humiliation, Incorporeal Sex, Kinktober, M/M, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant - Dishonored 2, Not Canon Compliant - Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, Object Insertion, incorporeal outsider, not actually that nasty but it feels that nasty, post knife of dunwall, post witches of bridgemore, sea metaphors abound, whale oil as lube, whale twink doms in this who'd have thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: The Outsider comes to him as he sleeps.  The void surrounds him, warm and dark—the type of dark that traps the light, eradicates it—impenetrable but also cradling.  It is replaced, suddenly, with fragmented images of the flooded district; familiar and foreign at once.  “Daud.  I’m impressed.  I wasn’t sure you’d be able to hold my interest this long.”--kinktober fill





	Got to Fill the Void

**Author's Note:**

> for the 27th which was degradation and exhibitionism
> 
> this fic has: fingering, object insertion, guided masturbation, humiliation, whale oil as lube!!!!!
> 
> not compliant with dishonored 2, not beta read

In the end, Corvo spares him. Daud lays out his grand plans before him, a new city, a new land, peace and repentance, and Corvo leaves without a word; a blessing, maybe. Daud doesn’t care about him, though, not really. Corvo is a bump in the road, a net that caught his rudder. His real interest lies, as always, with the Outsider.

The Outsider comes to him as he sleeps. The void surrounds him, warm and dark—the type of dark that traps the light, eradicates it—impenetrable but also cradling. It is replaced, suddenly, with fragmented images of the flooded district; familiar and foreign at once. “Daud. I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to hold my interest this long.”

Daud is not a braggart, but the Outsider has always brought out the worst in him. “I’ve held your interest for longer in the past.”

The Outsider smirks, barely a twitch of an expression. “The tides change.”

Daud feels vaguely as though he is being chastised, or perhaps condescended to. The Outsider’s tone is as unwavering as the sea; here it rises, here it falls, but always fathoms deep and unfathomable. “I found a note from Granny Rags,” he says, and looks expectantly at his hand. The note appears, as though it was always there. “She seems to think she was wedded to you.”

“Daud,” the Outsider says in admonishment. “I don’t play favorites.”

Daud tries to tamp down on the rush of jealousy he feels. The Outsider has played nothing but favorites of late; all his attention—all the attention of the entire empire—fixed on Corvo Attano’s every move. 

The Outsider’s eyes are as dark as the void and reveal nothing as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Daud: the first to receive my mark in a generation, but like an older brother, jealous of those who followed you. First Delilah, then Corvo, and others, scattered across the globe. Did you think you were special?”

Daud snorts. As a younger man, he would have risen to the bait, and been hooked. He has grown, lately. The late empress made sure of that. “And I suppose you lay with all of them, then? If it was just Granny that’d be…favorites? Wouldn’t it?” 

The Outsider stares, unblinking. “Who I lie with is hardly your concern, Daud. You have a ship to catch.” Then, softer, he says, “You showed restraint with Corvo. You could have let your rage blind you; a weaker man would have killed him, like you killed the empress, and so for your patience I will I’ll give you another name: Katherine.”

Daud wakes up out of breath, heart pounding in his chest and the smell of salt air surrounding him like a veil. Katherine. Another ship, he is almost sure. He has avoided his men since the confrontation with Billie, even more so since Delilah, so he goes to the harbor himself. He had decided to start this new life with a pocketful of coin and a change of clothes before changing his mind, and deciding instead to bring all his clothes, several stun mines, more than a few tranquilizer darts, and his wrist mounted bow. He may be a blossoming pacifist, but he’s not an idiot.

The Katherine was once a grand ship. Now, she is worn, as worn as the rest of Dunwall, and headed to the shores of Serkonos, a coast that Daud had sworn never to return to. Five hundred coins buys him passage, and as he boards the ship, it is not too hard to see why the Outsider chose it for him.

He focuses his vision and can see the shrine to the outsider, located below deck. The captain seems unaware of its existence when questioned, and Daud takes that as a good sign. He sets off to find it, and is pleased to find it in a passenger cabin. A purple, moth eaten curtain tells Daud it’s old, and the hastily covered bone charm and lack of other belongings tells him it’s abandoned.

Daud sets his belongings down and sits on his cot. He could unpack, or offer his services for the captain, but he’s never really unpacked ever in his life, and he paid the man, so he assumes he has good graces for at least a little while. He glances at the shrine. He could spruce it up, but he’s never been a big believer in worship, and the fact that he’s stood face to face with a god didn’t really change that.

“Perhaps I misjudged you, Daud. Here I thought worshipping was the thing you craved.” 

The Outsider’s presence is different at shrine than in dreams. More physical, perhaps. In dreams he’s as hazy and false as any other sleeping illusion, but at a shrine, he’s a force. Billie had asked what he smelled like, flowers or rotten flesh; the truth is, the outsider smells like nothing so much as brine and old blood.

“Must have me confused with someone else,” Daud says dryly. “I’ve never worshipped a day in my life.”

The Outsider’s black eyes seem to be full of mirth, or as full of mirth as unchanging blackness can be. “I know your mind, Daud. You’ve worshipped at the altar of blood for so long you’ve mistaken your worship for livelihood. I’ll give you a chance. A chance to prove your worth.” The Outsider crosses his arms across his chest. “Many call to me, Daud, many cry my name throughout the long days and dark nights. Many more worthy than you.”

“Then why don’t you appear to them instead?” Daud grumbles. He isn’t a fool, he knows that the Outsider is toying with him—though perhaps he is a fool, because he knows he will gladly play along to keep the Outsider’s eyes on him for as long as possible.

The Outsider laughs, his voice not quite doubled, but wrong, soft and reverberating and mocking. “Because you’ve caught my interest once again, my dear Daud. Your jealousy rings with every word you speak, and we both know you are desperate to worship for me. You’re too obvious, for a master assassin—I can see that you’re hard.”

Daud is back in his cabin in the sharply rocking boat, and he pants, taking a moment to catch his breath. He presses the heel of his palm to his unruly cock and sneers. Damn the Outsider, anyway.

He waits for it to subside before joining his shipmates aboard the Katherine for their evening meal. He starts, several times during the meal, when he hears the faint sound of reverberating laughter, echoing around the chambers of his mind. He feels jumpy and like his skin is on too tight, something he had never experienced before Jessamine’s death, and a part of him misses the ease with which he used to live. He had thought himself a ship at sea; finding out he had been at anchor his entire life made him itch with metaphorical wanderlust.

Daud is unsurprised to find himself in the void once he sleeps, whale song humming: an ambient symphony. The Outsider stands above him, floating several feet above the eerie distortion of Daud’s ship, resting the on the shards the void has made of it. He’s daunting for one with a face so young. The eyes, Daud thinks. The eyes as old as the sea, and it makes a shiver spread up his spine as his cock twitches unhelpfully against his fly.

“Tell me,” Daud says, staring down the Outsider. “What would you have me do?”

The Outsider smiles. “You wish to lie with me,” the Outsider says, enjoyment coloring his tone. “Show me why I should grant you unusual attention.”

Daud rolls his eyes. He is a man of action and this much talk rankles. “How do you expect me to do that?” he asks, certain the Outsider has a plan in mind, the scheming terror. But Daud wants to taste that power, to have those black eyes fixed on him and him alone. He wants the touch of those fingers, which he is sure would be as cold as the ocean, wants to feel The Outsider’s cock, and wants The Outsider to feel his.

The Outsider smirks, and waves his hand, airily. It’s a powerful gesture; one that makes Daud look to his hand at once, certain The Outsider has stripped him of his mark. Instead, the on the floor, the broken wooden slats of Daud’s room, appears a slim but bulbous bottle of refined whale oil.

The Outsider grins without moving his mouth, eyebrows rising in challenge or mockery, and Daud bristles slightly. “Show me what it is like to fuck you.”

Daud blanches, both at the words and the implication of the oil. He’s stolen this sort of oil before, sold it, too, and he’s never imagined putting several hundreds coins worth of whale oil up his ass. It occurs to him then, for the first time, that he assumed he would be fucking The Outsider, and realized all at once his folly. “All right.”

The Outsider’s smirk grows, a twitch of the lips. “Strip.”

Daud strips dutifully, folding his clothes, and feeling colder and less sure with every layer lost. The void isn’t cold, really, but he shivers nevertheless. He’s not an inexperienced man, but this style of play had never much appealed to him; he is at sea without a boat. He tries to imagine pressing his own fingers within himself and shudders. He stands, naked, and averts his gaze, unwilling to how the Outsider must be grinning.

“I appreciate your deference, Daud,” he says. “But careful or your blind obedience might begin to bore me. I’d like to see the proud assassin Daud on his knees.”

Gritting his teeth, Daud settles onto his knees, the vial sitting before him like a promise. This wasn’t what he had wanted, but in a way, any version of the story where the Outsider is watching him is exactly what he wants. He reaches out to the vial, wanting to be done with the posturing, when the Outsider’s voice stops him.

“All the way down.”

Daud sighs and leans forward at the waist, setting his elbows and forearms to the distorted ground, face flushed with a blush that feels too youthful on his cheeks. He wonders, not for the first time, how old the Outsider actually is, and how many marked he has gone through, losing interest as they age. He reaches out with his dominant hand, snagging the bottle. He pries the cap off with his teeth, wincing at the taste of whale oil on his tongue. It’s coats his tongue, cold and thick and slick, and tastes like whale meat, but muskier, darker. Daud shudders and makes to spit when the Outsider’s voice echoes out again.

“Swallow, Daud. Don’t you wish to know how I taste?”

Daud is relatively sure that it is in fact whale oil, having tasted it in the past to test it’s purity before sale, but the Outsider’s words leave a lingering thought in his mind of what the Outsider might taste like and he feels the urge to lick the rim of the bottle but restrains himself.

“Good.” The Outsider sounds faintly amused, but its as much emotion as he has ever shown and it makes Daud ache. “Get your fingers wet, my dearest, Daud. How many do you think I’d like to see you take? How many do you need to,” he pauses, face moving slowly into something that resembles a recognizable smile, then adds, “hold my attention?”

Daud takes a deep breath, trying to settle his fluttering heart. His cock is growing hard, from anticipation or eagerness or fear, he isn’t sure. He pours the viscous oil over all of his fingers. It spreads quickly, warming slowly on his hand like some alien thing. He slides a clumsy finger between the mounds of his ass and, dominant hand or no, he is fumbling. He pushes his middle finger into his ass and presses in. It is appallingly base, somehow almost religious as it is anathema. He pushes onward, breaching himself and recoils. Worship on an already sunken ship. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

The Outsider holds his arms behind his back, observing him closely. “Very good, assassin. There is a spot within you like the pearl from a river krust. Reach for it.”

Daud is pretty sure the instruction is literal, and, obligingly, digs into himself, pressing forcefully until he fingers it. His cock, which had been sitting at half-mast, twitches wetly. Ambitiously, he presses a second finger in as well. The stretch burns and Daud swears, but the Outsider laughs and it reaffirms Daud’s overpowering want. He feels his muscles begin to stretch and loosen, fingers sliding wetly in and out of his ass, slowly easing and not clinging to his fingers. “Your eyes are still on me,” Daud says, but his voice comes out tight and strained.

“Is that all?” the Outsider drawls, dryly. 

Daud glares up at him, realizing, embarrassed, that at some point he had closed his eyes. The Outsider’s face is blank, disinterested almost, and that too makes Daud’s cock jump with humiliated excitement. Debasing himself before his patron is something his body seems to like. He stretches his fingers in opposite directions, teaching his muscles to yield. He’s dripping hard, non-dominant hand still clutching the faintly glowing bottle of whale oil tightly. He presses a third finger in, and looks up at the Outside and sneers, faintly challenging the Outsider to tell him off.

The Outsider offers him a disaffected grin. “Bottle, next, mouth first.”

Daud thinks about challenging the command, but it will only be his loss—the loss of the Outsider’s gaze on him, which seems too terrible to bear. He passes the bottle to his dominant hand, slicking it up, the switches it back, his slicked hand moving to his straining cock and his bottle towards his ass. 

The Outsider clicks his tongue and Daud freezes like a naught child. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Daud nods, squeezing his eyes shut as he begins pushing the slim bottle into himself, resisting the urge to touch his cock, resting his hand against he floorboards again. The neck goes it easily, slim and long, the oil beginning to seep into his ass through the mouth. The rest of the bottle takes a few hard shoves, before the rounded section of the bottle slips within him. The bottle is truly seated, long and wide and fragile, and when he rocks forward on his forearms he can feel the oil dripping into his guts.

“Please,” Daud says finally, willing to beg at this point. The Outsider’s eyes on him are like a brand, a hot gaze searing into his flesh and he is hard and aching and wants to serve.

“Get yourself off for me, Daud. Can you feel me, spilling into you? Does it make you harder, imagining that I’m behind you and taking you, instead of watching as you debase yourself before me? No matter. Debase yourself; hold my attention.”

Daud reaches his slick hand to his cock, pulling fiercely, reading to spill and clenching on the foreign object within him. Each shift of his hips jars the bottle, shaking it within him, and he has been on the edge for what feels like an age. He’s not sure how time passes in the void, if it passes at all—and he thinks that the Outsider could keep him here forever, on the brink of cumming, waiting and wanting and desperate and debauched, and that thought does it he cums with a shout.

Panting, Daud looks the Outsider in his black eyes as he scoops up his own cum from the floorboards, bringing his fingers to his lips. The taste mingles with the musky taste of whale oil on his tongue and he moans.

“Good,” the Outsider says, amusement thick in his voice. “Maybe you’re not so boring after all.”

Daud gasps, coming to on the floor of his cabin, naked and sweating, but free of oil and bottles. The Outsider is gone, but the taste of him is still thick on Daud’s tongue and he grins, rising to his feet. He’ll have to try harder next time, but Daud has never been one to give up easily.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like this come chat with me on [tumblr](http://www.racetrackthehiggins.tumblr.com) or buy me a coffee!!


End file.
